


and i will hold on to you

by squash1



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling, Drabble Collection, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Napping, Pre-CDTH, literally just a place for me to dump all the little pynch scenes that don't fit into any other fics, post-trk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 16:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squash1/pseuds/squash1
Summary: A collection of Pynch vignettes.





	1. headache

**Author's Note:**

> I'll post these as I go. Don't expect anything too fancy.
> 
> For prompts, hmu on tumblr (@lesbianparrish).

The way Ronan’s fingers tug slightly at the messy strands as they weave through his hair have Adam hanging his head in defeat. A small groaning sounds creeps past his lips. Next to the ringing in his ears, Ronan’s huffing breath is all he can discern.

“You ok?”

Ronan’s voice is smooth and baritone, and yet Adam can feel pain pulsing beneath his skull with every syllable. A confession, a concession of defeat, comes easy this time.

“No,” Adam replies, pushing his head forwards in a feline motion, chasing the feeling of probing, caressing finger tips.

“All right, that’s it,” Ronan says, full of determination, before he snaps the text book shut. Adam loves this side of him, the Ronan who takes charge and puts a firm foot down. “We’re taking a fucking nap.”

If it’s possible, Adam loves this Ronan even more. The warm, comforting, nurturing one. The Ronan that bends down to press a kiss against Adam’s forehead before heaving him out of his chair and dragging him across the living room, to the sofa. The Ronan that lets Adam cling to him, who tugs him impossibly close, tucks Adam’s head beneath his chin, cradles his head to his chest like there is nothing more precious in this world.

Adam sighs. First stutteringly, then forcefully. It barely takes three deep breaths until he slips into a glorious unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, I wrote this because I have a horrible headache at the moment and I needed to project.


	2. saturday

The very first, hazy thought that crosses Adam’s mind is _relief_. There is something about the way Ronan’s buzzed head scratches against the skin on his shoulder, the heaviness of his arm thrown across Adam’s midriff. All of it is grounding, stabilising the ever-whirring anxious analysis of his surroundings.

Adam shifts the duvet with his feet, and the air that hits his calves is delightfully cool. Next to him, Ronan stirs. Adam half expects him to roll over, move further away. He has come to notice this fear of Ronan leaving him, even if it’s just to sleep on separate sides of the bed instead of curled up together in the middle. Adam wants it so bad, his touch and his sound and his scent; can’t get enough of the comforting weight of Ronan against him; the feeling of Ronan around him, inside him, beneath him, above him.

Caught up in blissful reminiscence, Adam fails to notice Ronan’s dozy eyes surveying his face. He closes his own eyes again for a moment, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Morning,” Ronan says, voice rough with sleep.

Adam turns his head, humming in acknowledgement.

As he always does after a dreamless sleep, Ronan tightens his grip on Adam, squeezing him impossibly close as his lungs contract in a strained groan before his body falls lax against the mattress again. Adam yawns, stretches his legs as well. The slight puff of air out of his mouth does not nearly match the panache of Ronan’s grumbling sound.

“How’re you feeling?” Ronan asks, lifting the duvet and tugging it up to his nose. Or up to Adam’s clavicle, there’s not really a way to discern the actual target when they’re this intertwined.

“Good. Like I’ve been run over by a steam roller,” Adam supplies.

Ronan huffs a small laugh, nudges his nose against Adam’s shoulder, and says, “You’re welcome.”

Adam tells him to shut up.

“Shame, though,” Ronan says, “I wouldn’t mind another go.”

This time, he playfully sinks his teeth into the junction of sinews and muscles where the plane of Adam’s shoulder climbs towards his neck.

“How are you this insufferable two seconds after waking up,” Adam deadpans, hoping that the lack of rising intonation tells Ronan that this not a question that actually demands an answer.

He waits for a sarcastic remark, a quick-witted rebuttal, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Ronan hums, most likely in amusement, and climbs over on top of him, propping himself up an arm’s length away from Adam’s face. Instinctively, Adam wraps his legs around Ronan, ankles crossing over his tail bone. Then, Ronan kisses him, and Adam decides to forget about teasing words and focuses on the physicality of dalliance instead.

So he comes to relish in the feeling of Ronan’s hips between his thighs and the steady weight on top of him. There is a softness in his kiss, a playful tenderness that was not present in the rushed and heated embraces they shared the night before. A hum of pleasure escapes Adam’s throat and he arches his back, a knee-jerk reaction to the way Ronan’s groin against his is both too much and not enough. _Want_ and _need_ burn bright inside of him.

Ronan angles his head slightly, prominent nose tickling Adam’s own, and Adam feels the other’s mouth stretch into a smile until teeth scrape his lips. The sharpness surprises him, and Adam tightens his grip on Ronan’s bicep, placing his other hand on his back to pull him closer.

Saturday, Adam finds, is his favourite day of the week.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bONE?
> 
> I love writing these little vignettes and I'm so excited to be writing again at all. Comments and suggestions are always appreciated!
> 
> x


	3. bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Hi!  
> Fair warning, this is entirely self-indulgent.

“Stop fidgeting.”

“But it’s uncomfortable!”

“Then get out.”

Adam is just trying to have a nice relaxing evening. When he arrived home earlier, he had it all figured out. He was going to spend the night reading a book that is something other than five hundred pages of academic babble, then have an early night in. Nothing more and nothing less.

Naturally, Ronan has found his way into Adam’s evening plans.

They’re in the bathtub, without bubbles but drenched in the scent of far too much lavender oil; a gift given to Adam last Christmas by Calla, with a note attached that told him he needed to relax more in an almost not impolite manner. Getting into the tub together was entirely Ronan’s idea, and it took quite a bit of convincing for Adam to join him. Slowly, it seems to dawn on him why Adam was so reluctant at first. It’s a tight squeeze, Adam can’t fully stretch out his legs sitting in the tub alone, much less with Ronan on the opposite end.

What doesn’t help is that Ronan, in his discomfort, shifts and stretches and squirms relentlessly. After ten minutes in the tub, there have been two near missed kicks to Adam’s privates and one more or less strategically placed pinch to the back of Ronan’s ticklish calf in retaliation.

Adam inhales the sharp, prominent lavender scent before releasing it into the misty air in the shape of a sigh.

“I kinda miss being in the bath as a kid, not getting out until my fingers were all wrinkly,” Ronan says in a moment’s peace.

Adam tries not to think about the cramped little bathroom in the double-wide, where showers were tepid at best. Even if they had been hot enough to fog up the mirror on the medicine cabinet, he would have never been allowed to stay under the spray long enough for his skin to wrinkle.

Lost in thought, Adam doesn’t notice Ronan shifting onto his knees until it is too late and he is already towering over him. The bathwater shifts forcefully against the rousing rearrangement of mass inside the tub, sending a wave of pale purple over the edge onto the tiled floor.

“You’re making a mess,” Adam says, parting his knees to accommodate Ronan in between.

“Whatever,” Ronan scoffs, the grips of both his hands circling Adam’s legs just below the knees.

A sudden interest stirs inside of Adam. Maybe this evening won’t turn out to be a total disaster after all.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Before he can register what is happening, Ronan’s grip on his calves tightens and he is pulled deeper into the water. The sliding of skin against porcelain elicits a squeaking noise from under the surface. Adam laughs, bathwater finding its way into his mouth when he gasps sharply in surprise.

Ronan splutters a laugh as Adam coughs.

“Maybe this isn’t as romantic as I thought.”

Adam’s reply is another cough. “You think?” he adds, sarcasm dripping from his tongue as stutteringly as the drops of water rolling down Ronan’s chest. He lets himself be transfixed by the way they glisten on his skin.

“Maybe we should get out before you fucking drown in here.”

“Shut up,” Adam says, and pulls Ronan down for a kiss. It’s sloppy and slippery and _lavender-y_ , and he savours it, delights in it.

When they part, they heave themselves out of the tub, kiss again with Ronan pushed up against the sink. The soles of Adam’s feet feel funny against the soaked bath mat.

“I’m not mopping this up,” he mutters.

Ronan, mouth against Adam’s, finds no words of protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to Ronan and Adam to turn funny and awkward into saucy, huh?


	4. home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just........................holding each other + ronan has Feelings

The soft warmth of Adam is radiating through the thin fabric, through a curtain of something like laundry detergent and the crisp morning air. Ronan buries his face into that spot on Adam’s shoulder, gripping him tightly around the middle as he does. There is something about holding him close that feels so right, so perfect, and it makes Ronan want to squeeze Adam unbearably tight, makes him want to fuse their bodies together like this and never come apart again.

Oh, how he has missed him. So much sometimes that his insides felt like he had swallowed a lump of lead, or wolfed down an entire pot of spaghetti much too quickly, or drunk an entire bottle of water before a tennis match. The physicality of it has always felt weird to Ronan. It isn’t pain per se, not the kind of grief he experienced after his father’s death or his mother’s demise. It is, precisely, a sort of heaviness that settled somewhere beneath his heart, behind his stomach, radiating all the way to his fingertips in anxious waves. Sometimes, when Adam is in class or at work or otherwise preoccupied enough to forget about the possibility of a new text message in his inbox, Ronan feels longing proverbially pulsating through his limbs. Usually, he goes for a drive and listens to a copy of _A Shitbox Singalong_ , hurls junk around the backyard, considers building a home gym. All of that helps ease the feeling of something missing from him, but the sensation never truly fades until he holds Adam in his arms again.

Ronan knows that Adam feels the same, or at least something very similar. The only difference is that Adam has a thousand things to occupy his beautiful brain with when he needs a distraction from the full-force feeling of missing him. Ronan thinks that maybe he, too, needs to find something to divert his mind from time to time.

But none of that matters right here, right now, in this moment. Not when Adam’s turning in his arms, cool hands reaching around the back of Ronan’s neck and pulling him down, closer. Not when he’s kissing him fiercely, passionately, like he never wants to let go again.

They’ll figure it out. They always do. All Ronan needs to remember is that with three and a half years of college under his belt, Adam has not once _not_ come back to him.

And Adam reminds him of that later, when they’re tangled up together, intertwined in the sheets. When the _I love you, Ronan_ rolls off his tongue as easily and elegantly as ever, and the trace of his fingertips over Ronan’s heart is slow and circular. This time, it’s Ronan turning in Adam’s arms and his hands pulling Adam closer. It’s the deep intake of air that expands Adam’s lungs, the slow exhale shaped, stutteringly, almost like a sigh that tells Ronan all he longs to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adam will always come home to ronan and ronan will always be there to welcome him home. how bout that.
> 
> also, disclaimer: im very opposed to the idea that ronan genuinely believes that adam doesn't love him enough and might not want to come back home one day. its just that ronan has FEELINGS and he's working through those slight abandonment issues (who wouldn't have them if they lost both their parents within, what, a week?).... but at the end of the day he knows that adam is always coming back and (at some point, with some growth) he will realise that he can go out and Do Stuff too instead of sitting around at the barns not healing from his trauma. thanks for coming to my ted talk.


	5. the real thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im back and im soft
> 
> fair warning: sexey times implied

Ronan’s eyes are closed but he can feel the rhythmic _tha-thump_ of Adam’s heart against his side, right where Adam’s chest is pressed up against his ribcage. _Heart to heart_ , Ronan thinks, then realises that his own is on the other side of his chest, its rapid beat concealed by the heaving of his chest. He is out of breath, out of his mind, almost feels like this is all out of a dream.

For a moment, Ronan almost forgets that he did not just wake up. It was all very real. Mere seconds ago, Adam sunk back into the mattress beside him, everything about him tangible, and Ronan finds proof in the memory of his movement, the way he is laying still now.

A sigh morphs into a yawn, and then Ronan opens his eyes, lashes fluttering against the afternoon sun piercing through the blinds. He moves and shifts slightly to accommodate Adam’s head in the crook of his shoulder, and pulls on his elbow until Adam gets the memo and slings his arm tightly around Ronan’s chest.

“I’m gonna miss this,” Adam mumbles, tangling his legs with Ronan’s.

And because Ronan is an asshole, he laughs at the ambiguity of this statement. “Well, _shit_ , me too,” he huffs, breath quietly quavering in supressed laughter.

The _shut up_ out of Adam’s mouth is playful, the pinch of his fingers on Ronan’s biceps sharp. Despite everything, Adam’s knee hitches higher and comes to rest on Ronan’s thigh. The gesture is simple enough, but Ronan feels a comfortable warmth in his belly at the thought of two lovers morphing into one.

“Hm,” Ronan hums, “no.”

Despite his foolery, or perhaps because of it, Adam laughs. Beautifully, a little breathlessly, a remnant of roughness in his throat. And truth be told, Ronan is going to miss these moments just as much as Adam. They make do with what they have, usually. Text messages and FaceTime and psychic connections are a blessing upon their relationship, but not even shared dreams in beds of magical moss manage to mediate the exact prickling spark beneath whichever patch of skin Adam’s fingers dance across. There is something about the way his lips feel, the reality of his ghosting breath, the insistence of his hips, the heaving of his chest.

No cellular connection can breach the distance between them, can elicit the same sparkling response from Ronan’s heart as Adam’s actual physical touch. It’s good, it’s good enough. But it’s not as good as the real thing.

Ronan recalls a quip from Henry, the waggle of a precise brow alongside a comment about how hard long-distance relationships can be. Back then, Ronan’s blush was deep but quickly concealed by a roaring anger. Henry wasn’t wrong, not per se. Once you got a taste of the real thing, fantasy does no longer have the same appeal. But Ronan makes do, in that respect, and he knows that it is not what Adam implied he will miss once he leaves for summer term.

Next to him, Adam sighs. The following breaths he takes are deep but less sharp, an indication for approaching slumber.

“Nap?”

Adam grumbles in response. Ronan cranes his neck to kiss Adam’s forehead, a gesture which has been carefully formed into a habit, much like locking ankles underneath the kitchen table, interlaced fingers over the gearshift, or Adam’s lips pressing against the back of Ronan’s neck.  

“Love you,” Adam mumbles. His grip on Ronan’s chest tightens as he pulls himself, impossibly, closer.

Ronan closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

Soon, they will have an entire summer to themselves.

“Love you, too.”


	6. napping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up two months later with an Iced Coffee and no valid excuse*
> 
> hi y'all i'm back(ish)!
> 
> i've been feeling really self-conscious about my writing so i haven't been sharing a lot lately, oops!
> 
> anyway, have my longest vignette yet as an apology. completely unbeta'd nap time!

When Adam sleeps, he sleeps hard. He’s a sweaty sleeper, with sharp breaths puffing from between parted lips and his body bent into strange angles. He makes sleeping look like a sport, as if he is determined to come in first place.

Ronan laughs quietly to himself as he looks down at where Adam is nestled against him. His hair is wild, and his face crumpled from pressing against Ronan’s shoulder at a weird angle. _Just a quick power-nap_ has turned into an hour and a half long embrace, Adam asleep and Ronan basking in his tenderness. The position is mildly uncomfortable, the twin bed is narrow and Ronan’s left arm is tingly, stuck between the mattress and Adam’s sleeping form. It’s awkward and Ronan’s neck is threatening to cramp up from uncomfortably leaning against the headboard, but he doesn’t dare move.

Carefully, Ronan lets his free hand wander up Adam’s side, tracing from the jut of his hip all the way up his ribs, counting them under his touch. He knows Adam will want to get back to studying before dinner, knows he should wake him up. But the sun is at its highest point, hitting the roof of the farm house at an unrelenting angle and stifling the air within. Ronan doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to brave the heat, doesn’t want Adam to go back to his Spanish exercises or Physics text book or whatever the hell he’s had his nose stuck in all day. He thinks maybe he can convince him to take a dip in the pond together. For research, of course. How to maximize the cannonball splash zone. Or something else vaguely related to the subject matter of Adam’s studies.

Deep in thought, Ronan is almost shaken when Adam’s grip around his middle tightens and his leg hitches and hooks around one of Ronan’s own. A deep inhale rattles his chest, then a soft groan slips past Adam’s lips as his lungs decompress.

“If you squeeze any harder, my eyes are gonna pop out of my skull,” Ronan quips, poking Adam’s side. There is no reaction safe from a slight relaxing of Adam’s arm as he sinks back into the mattress.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Ronan beams, sarcasm seeping into his tone to cover up his heart threatening to burst with fondness.

Adam grunts, sticks his face into the space between Ronan’s underarm and the mattress, and Ronan jerks a little when Adam’s hair tickles his arm pit.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says, poking Adam before turning to lie on his side, Adam still face-down and breathing heavy.

A slightly drawn out “ _ugh_ ,” is all Adam lets on.

Ronan’s supporting his head on his elbow now, mustering Adam. There isn’t much space for him to gain a wider perspective so he tries extra hard not to go cross-eyed as he studies Adam’s profile. Or, well, whatever part of his profile that isn’t pressed into the mattress.

Adam’s lips are parted, his cheeks and the tips of his ears raspberry red and starkly standing out even against the tan of his skin. The hair at the nape of his neck looks sweaty, and Ronan cannot resist cupping it with his own hand. He discovers it to be damp and somewhat sticky to his touch. Ronan lets his hand wander down Adam’s neck and let it settle between his shoulder blades, one of which is jutting out strangely at Adam’s uncomfortably angled position.

Again, Adam groans. Then, abruptly and with a huff, he turns to face Ronan. “Ugh,” he repeats, burrowing his nose into the crook of Ronan’s neck. Ronan catches a whiff of the mild and sweet scent of fresh sweat that has collected in his hair and feels a sudden need to engulf Adam and be engulfed by Adam. To kiss and hold and taste him, to be kissed and held and tasted by him.

Ronan’s eyes flutter shut.

The burning intensity of his feelings has always been a lot, sometimes he fears it might be too much, that his desire burns so brightly Adam might feel scorched by it one day. He keeps waiting to accidentally set off Adam’s alarms, but he has been treading carefully and so far nothing has sent him running.

Ronan throws an arm around Adam, pulling him impossibly closer. Skin-on-skin, the embrace feels alight with feverish devotion.

He doesn’t notice Adam’s hand on the back of his head until he feels fingernails scraping lightly against his buzzcut. No, not scraping. Fondling. Caressing.

“What time’s it?” Adam asks, voice slurred and muffled against Ronan’s skin. It seems he is more awake now, his body moving against Ronan’s suggestively.

“No idea.”

“ _Mhm_ , come on” Adam says, tongue darting out hotly against Ronan’s neck. He’s right, of course. If Ronan opened his eyes, the alarm clock on his night stand would be in his direct line of sight.

But Ronan doesn’t want to open his eyes, not when Adam’s lapping lazily at his pulse point, not when the answer to Adam’s question could mean the end of his ministrations. He grinds his hips with intent, lets the hand on Adam’s back wander lower and presses down firmly, pushing Adam’s hips against his own. They grind lazily for a while, Adam sucking love bites into the tender skin of Ronan’s neck whilst Ronan dips his fingertips just barely beneath the waistline of Adam’s briefs.

“Tell you what,” Ronan mutters, turning his head so his lips brush Adam’s good ear. “Let’s take a dip in the pond.”

Adam hums appreciatively.

“Then come back up and shower.”

Another hum. Adam lifts his mouth off Ronan’s throat, nosing his jaw instead, considering. “Okay.”

Ronan feels his lips stretch into a grin, wide and toothy. “And then I’ll let you get back to your nerd shit.”

At this, Adam huffs. He pulls back to look Ronan in the eye and deadpans, “Finally.”

Ronan tightens his hold and rolls onto his back, taking Adam with him. After some shuffling, Adam’s got his hands on each side of Ronan’s head, looming over him. It’s only now that Ronan truly sees the mess of his hair, strands sticking up wildly in all directions and frizz framing his face. Sandwiched between his boyfriend and the mattress, Ronan almost doesn’t want to get up. But the bedroom is stuffy enough to make him an uncomfortable kind of sleepy, and he knows a splash in the makeshift pool out back will refresh them both. He’ll also take any excuse to frolic and dabble in the shallow water with Adam.

“Always such an asshole, Parrish.”

Adam laughs cheerfully and kisses Ronan again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow, most of these vignettes are about pynch waking up and cuddling lol
> 
> anyway i'd love it if you left me a comment! also, if anyone has suggestions, prompts or anything, hit me up on my tumblr (@lesbianparrish).


	7. blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon on tumblr asked me to "imagine pynch exchanging sleepy kisses, constantly bumping noses and laughing into each other’s mouths 🥺"... and so i did.

Ronan’s all up in Adam’s face and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s an outrageously peaceful summer morning and Adam’s late shift at the garage doesn’t start until 1pm. He woke naturally, without any alarm or responsibilities calling for his attention. The sun is only just starting to peak out from behind the mountains, coating Adam’s view out the window in a soft orange glow. It’s early enough that the animals are still sound asleep in the barns out back, and the only sounds Adam can hear are the sweet melody of the dawn chorus and the wind rustling through the orchard just below the window.

That, and Ronan’s breathing. His chest rises and falls evenly, Adam can feel his ribcage expanding and conflating under where his palm lays flat on Ronan’s abdomen. He curls his fist slightly, finger tips carding through the soft fuzz leading down towards Ronan’s navel. The skin beneath is cool and neither hard nor pudgy, a tender in-between fitting for a most vulnerable spot. Adam lays his palm flat onto Ronan’s stomach again, noses his sharp jaw and feels bemused by the low sound of protest that follows.

“Don’t fucking tickle me,” Ronan grumbles, except it sounds a bit more like a drawn-out “ _Dnfuhnnghmph_ ” and the roughest retaliation his half-asleep boyfriend can muster is to turn his head and dig his nose into Adam’s cheek.

Adam’s all right with that. Really, he doesn’t feel like having a battle of wits or finger tips in that moment. He would much rather just intertwine his body with Ronan’s and rest until his brain is running at a speed fast enough for lazily making out.

So, that’s exactly what he does. He wraps his arm around Ronan, clinging on to him in a Koala-like fashion, and burrows his face into the crook of Ronan’s neck. Adam’s chin rests comfortably against the dip of his clavicle, a feature of Ronan’s he continuously admires.

They lie like that for a while, and Ronan seems to have fallen back into a full slumber. The hot air out of Adams own nose heats up his cheeks and Ronan’s body lays relaxed next to him. After a while, Adam jolts out of his daze when a strange weight appears on top of him. It appears to be engulfing Ronan, too, because when Adam tries to lift his arm from where it is wrapped around Ronan’s torso, he feels a weighted resistance.

A dream. Of course it is. What else would it be? Adam has to quell the fear rising in his chest with reason and plausibility. After almost a year of sleeping and waking up with Ronan, this is still _weird_. A little bit scary, too, sometimes. Not because he doesn’t trust Ronan, no, Adam trusts him with his life. It’s more the unpredictability of Ronan’s magic, the sudden disturbance rattling him awake like his father’s voice or vice grip used to.

It’s fine, though. Adam is fine, and so is Ronan. The dream object is wrapped around them in an almost cosy way. It’s a quilt, Adam realises. An old, ratty looking thing made of soft fabric and an earthy smell. There are some leaves stuck to the upper side of it, crumbling off the blanket and onto the floor as Adam moves underneath it.

“Ronan,” Adam whispers. He knows it makes Ronan feel better to know that Adam wakes up immediately whenever he brings back something from his dreams. He takes a moment to assess the situation. It’s not bad at all. In fact, the quilt is quite comfortable against his sleep-warm skin, cool like the flipside of a pillow. Adam kicks his feet a little, making the blanket wallow up and relishing in the resulting breeze against his calves. He lets his head fall back onto Ronan’s shoulder.

“What are you doing,” Ronan says, finally stirring from his post-dream paralysis.

“Nothing,” Adam replies, but it sounds more like “ _Nthn_ ” as he mumbles it against Ronan’s neck.

Ronan hums and shifts onto his side, facing Adam. “Uh huh.”

“Uh huh,” Adam confirms. He really can’t help grinning at that.

Ronan presses up against him, scooting impossibly closer and pulling the blanket over both their shoulders. Adam feels his face moving in, closes his eyes. Ronan kisses him, lips soft and yet slightly lacklustre from sleep.

It’s exciting, but in a way only Ronan’s tenderness can be. It soothes the burning beneath Adam’s skin, makes him feel so known he feels lulled by it. It makes him wants to curl up in Ronan’s arms and ask him to never let go. It makes him want to hold on to Ronan, always.

Adam isn’t great with verbalising his yearning, though, so he kisses Ronan instead – lazily at first, slotting his lips against Ronan’s, feeling the burn of his stubble on his chin. It’s a bit sloppy, spit slicking the corners of his mouth as he nibbles on Ronan’s bottom lip until Ronan opens his mouth, pliant and yet forthcoming as their tongues meet in a familiar tangle.

Ronan pulls him closer by the small of his back and Adam arches into it, tangles his legs with Ronan’s. They kiss underneath the blanket for a while, Ronan’s hand roaming up and down Adam’s side until he shifts onto his back and beckons Adam to roll with him, coaxing him to lie on top of him.

“Lazy bastard,” Adam laughs against Ronan’s mouth, leaning down for another kiss and closing his lips into a pucker before pulling away with a smacking sound.

“Fuck off, it’s early,” Ronan mutters, and Adam rolls his eyes. He props himself up on his elbows anyway, one knee between Ronan’s supporting his weight as he half lays on Ronan, half overs above him.

Gaze fiery, Ronan stares up at him with a grin. His hands are roaming Adam’s back again, trailing up and down his spine.

“Now what?” Adam asks, making sure his grin matches Ronan’s in sheepishness.

Something in Ronan’s expression unwinds. The corners of his mouth drop, and he takes a deep, stuttering breath. “I’m so fucking tired.”

Adam groans and lets his forehead rest against Ronan’s.

“Maybe you’d feel more rested if you hadn’t spent most of the night dreaming up a goddamn picnic blanket.”

“I’ll have you know it was a very nice picnic,” Ronan says, matter-of-factly. He pulls Adam closer against him until Adam gives in and lies his full weight on top of him. Any hesitation is out the window now. Ronan clearly doesn’t mind the weight on top of him.

“Was it now?”

Adam shifts his hips and settles into a comfortable position, deaf ear pressed against Ronan’s shoulder. Strong arms are wrapped tightly around his frame now and Ronan cranes his neck to bump his nose against Adam’s.

“Yeah. There was a lot of bread,” he says, a low chuckle colouring his words.

“Bread?” Adam asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. Chastely, he presses his lips against Ronan’s. They alternate between fond grazes and proper, deep kisses. Ronan tastes slightly sweet and nothing like his MaxFresh toothpaste Adam knows he brushed his teeth with last night.

“Yeah, like, the good kind. Fresh out the dream oven. And butter.” Ronan rolls his eyes in what looks to be pleasure. “Jesus fucking Christ, the _butter_.”

Ronan hums approvingly, shifts his hips lasciviously. Adam knows he’s fooling around and finds himself laughing at the horrible joke. Still, two can play this game and Adam isn’t one to back down from a quip. He cranes his neck further and kisses Ronan fervently, tongue darting between rows of impeccable teeth.

When he pulls back, he can’t stop himself from grinning. “Is that a stick of butter in your pants or are you just reliving your foodie wet dream?”

At that, Ronan’s laugh is loud and glorious. “Fuck off,” he jabs, poking Adam’s ribs to emphasise his point. Adam laughs too and lets Ronan chuckle against his lips for a while whilst he rolls his eyes at his boyfriend’s sense of humour. For a while, it’s just this: Adam’s head tilted in a weird angle, Ronan’s lips against his again and again, and the warmth of his roaming palms on Adam’s back. Adam could fall asleep like this, cradled and comforted by his lover, his favourite person. His home.

Adam takes a deep breath. The blanket is still wrapped around them, and they keep covered up despite the rising July sun knocking on their bedroom window. They doze for a while, soaked in sunlight and sleepiness. It’s not until Ronan yawns vigorously and sighs deeply twice in a row.

“Ronan, what?” Adam asks, agitated by his sudden restlessness.

Adam can almost hear the pout on Ronan’s face when he asks, “Why are carbs are so fucking sexy?”

Now, it’s Adam’s time to sigh. He cranes his neck to look at Ronan. “Because your brain associates high glucose foods with happiness.”  
He can barely finish the sentence before Ronan’s stomach grumbles audibly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are much appreciated!
> 
> if you enjoyed this fic, you can also [reblog it on tumblr](https://sunkissedparrish.tumblr.com/post/187126446285/imagine-pynch-exchanging-sleepy-kisses-constantly). that would mean a lot :)


	8. pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ronan and adam bake pie and make out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no proofreading, we post unbeta'd like lazy idiots

Persephone’s plum pie recipe is one of the few non-magical heirlooms passed down to Adam after his mentor’s untimely death. Every now and again, Adam is overcome with an inexplicable craving for pie. Ronan himself is always ready to help his culinarily challenged lover in the kitchen, and together they have mastered a routine that works out for both of them: Ronan will make the crust in the morning and let it chill in the fridge for a while. Once Adam returns from school or work or whichever obligation has kept him away all day, he’ll hop up on the counter and watch Ronan cook up the filling. Then, with painstaking precision, Adam will roll out and fit the dough into one of Aurora’s many pie dishes, a tedious task Ronan has never been a fan of.

Once the pie is in the oven, egg-washed and dusted with cinnamon, Adam reassumes his perch on the kitchen counter, sitting in the spot right between the knife block and the sink. The sunset seeping in through the window behind him casts his shape in a soft orange glow and Ronan is a little bit perplexed by the picture-perfect sight. It’s been a long day for both of them, Adam working a seemingly endless shift at Boyd’s and Ronan outside the main house harvesting plums from the short stocky trees in the orchard. At midday, he had lain in the shade fantasising about this moment – about Adam’s return in the evening, about the domesticity of cooking dinner together and the easy smile tugging at Adam’s mouth.

Reality itself is so much more. Better. Ronan feels intensity of the moment crackling in his fingertips. Adam pulls him closer, loops his arms around his shoulders. It’s a familiar gesture, an expression of affection they have practiced many times before. Ronan loves it, revels in it. Adam’s soft touch at the base of his neck whilst his other hand snakes upwards, caressing over his bristly buzzcut.

* * *

 

Adam’s breath is hot on his face and Ronan beckons him with a nod forward, noses brushing ever so slightly. He can almost feel the faint touch of pale lashes fluttering against his cheek when Adam closes his eyes and hums in a way Ronan knows to mean that he is relishing every bit of their embrace.

Ronan doesn’t dare close his eyes, wants to take in everything and soak it up inside of him. His hands find Adam’s hips, drawing him nearer to the edge of the counter. Thumbing his way underneath Adam’s shirt, Ronan takes great care in drawing circles along Adam’s hip bones. His skin is warm and delectably soft. Ronan feels the sudden urge to replace fingers with lips, to hear Adam’s breath hitch and notice the trademark flush stretching from his cheeks to the tip of his ears. Instead, Ronan mouths at Adam’s jaw, placing open-mouthed kisses against the stark line of it before dipping lower and darting his tongue against Adam’s pulse point.

“Ronan,” Adam says, and it sounds a little like a prayer.

Adam says  _Ronan_  like Ronan used to think  _please_.

 _Please_  let me have this.  _Please_  be with me.  _Please_  let him love me back.

“Ronan,” Adam asks again, a little more breathless this time. “Kiss me.”

And Ronan does. He captures Adam’s lips with his own, and it’s slick and messy and just the way they both like it, an undercurrent of tenderness as their baseline.

A homey sweetness fills the air, the scent of cinnamon and sugary plums thick in the air as they embrace. With fervour, Adam moans against Ronan’s mouth, passing on vibrations onto Ronan’s tongue and sending white hot sparks flickering inside of him. Wrapping his legs around Ronan’s waist, he draws him even closer.

“Shirt,” Adam gasps between kisses, “off.”

Ronan obliges. His skin is sun-warm and reddened, and Adam’s touch leaves him shivering with a slight sting. Probably sunburnt.

“You feel warm,” Adam murmurs when he gets his hands back on him.

“Well yeah, I was out picking plums for you all day,” Ronan replies, shooting him a wicked grin.

Adam hums, most likely considering which snarky remark to throw back at him. That’s why Ronan is thrown off when he asks, “Without sunscreen?”

There’s a softness to his intonation, the kind that usually fades once things between them get as heated as they had just been. Adam is worried.

Closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Adam’s shoulder, Ronan breathes out through his nose, one drawn-out sharp exhale.

“I forgot,” he confesses, face still buried against the soft jersey of Adam’s t-shirt. Well, Ronan’s t-shirt, to be precise. It’s a dark grey number, edges pristine but colour slightly faded from drying in the sun a few too many times. On the front, the black and yellow print of the Batman logo is crackled and distressed. Ronan remembers wearing this shirt when he was younger, back when his world was still whole and his mother would call him inside to force a hoodie over his head once it got too cold in the evening. It occurs to him that Adam must have dug up the shirt from Ronan’s old dresser drawer after his shower. Adam helping himself to Ronan’s clothes nowadays is a common occurrence which Ronan readily welcoms. He looks good in all of them too, some too short (from before Ronan’s mid-teenage growth spurt), some of them too loose around the shoulders (current garments), some of them fitting just right (from around the time of Ronan’s freshman year at Aglionby), but nevertheless suiting him impeccably. The Batman t-shirt is on the shorter side, giving away enough of Adam’s midriff for the hem not to bunch up when Ronan slides his hands underneath the fabric earlier.

Now, Adam is mimicking the gesture, hands sliding from Ronan’s shoulders to his hips. Ronan’s sweats are hanging low on his frame, and Adam thumbs the stark line where angry red meets pasty.

Ronan pulls away slightly, looking at Adam. “You put it on me next time.”

At this, Adam smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Ronan echoes. There is a glint in Adam’s eyes, the kind of sparkle that comes with suppressing a smirk. Ronan leans forward to stealth a kiss, though Adam meets him with enthusiasm and bares his teeth against Ronan’s when their lips smack wetly against each other.

After that, Adam is careful with him. His touches are light and mostly confined to his face, shielded which had been shielded by a baseball cap most of the afternoon. He remembers the pie just in time for it to still be edible.

Ronan would have had no problem with letting it burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and prompts/requests are always appreciated! 
> 
> thank you for reading :) x


	9. soap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon on tumblr who said: "Now we need ronan sitting down while adam stands before him, ronan pulling him closer and kissing his belly and his hip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd as always, sorry lol

Ronan’s tugging off his socks when Adam exits the bathroom wrapped in a towel and surrounded by a cloud of steam, sweaty day at the garage scrubbed off entirely. The image is almost comical, Adam’s face flushed and his hair damp.

Ronan balls up his socks and tosses them into the general direction of the laundry basket.

“Not quite a slam dunk.” Adam’s laugh is quiet but remarkable. The sock ball has landed in the nook next to their dresser. Ronan doesn’t care.

“Whatever, man,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Come here.”

Raking his fingers through his damp hair, Adam hums in consideration. Ronan eyes the portion of the towel where Adam has tucked it into itself, riding low around his midriff. All of a sudden, all Ronan wants is to reach out for tender touches, to smooth his palms over Adam’s torso and feel the steam-hot skin underneath.

“I’m so tired,” Adam mumbles. He’s biting his lip, crossing over to the dresser to take out a pair of briefs and one of Ronan’s old t-shirts.

“I know,” Ronan replies. He watches Adam drop the towel and slip on his underwear.

When he turns back around, a little frown has wedged itself between Adam’s brows. It gnaws at Ronan, feeding on his composure. Instead of cursing or smashing his fist against the wall or urging his car vastly over the speed limit, he merely watches Adam walk over to the bedside table, in his shirt with the tri-coloured stripes, and grab the small glass jar of dream balm Ronan has gifted him.

Ronan watches him rub a small amount of the earthily-scented cream over his dry knuckles. They’re red and dry-looking and when Ronan reaches out for Adam’s hand to kiss them gently, Adam sighs softly.

Pulling him closer, Ronan looks up in awe at Adam. A small smile, more intensely perceptible in his eyes than on his lips, unravels something in Ronan.

Then, Adam’s hands are cupping his face and Ronan turns his head to sniff at the inside of his wrist. The skin there is paler than the rest of him, the delicate veins branching underneath have a greenish-blue hue to them, like the colour of a slightly faded bruise.

He lifts Adam’s shirt, then, and one of Adam’s hands wanders to the back of his neck, the thumb rubbing over the spot just behind Ronan’s ear.

Ronan loves these moments the most, moments when they don’t need words. The moments where a gentle thumbing of Ronan’s hairline and the press of lips against Adam’s hip say more than _I love you_.

Sometimes, talking is difficult, both their hearts shackled by memories unspeakable things. But they always have kiss to say _I understand_ , a hug to say _You’re going to be all right_.

Every gram of tenderness he can muster Ronan mouths into the soft dip of skin right next to Adam’s hip bone. Under his touch, he can feel Adam’s abs flutter, his stomach tighten as he sucks in a startled breath.

Ronan wants to laugh. He feels triumphant. Making Adam Parrish feel this way, coaxing these amazed, awestruck reactions from him, fills him with an unmatched sense of pride.

Never able to get enough, Ronan keeps going. He presses his face against Adam’s stomach, noses the golden hairs under his belly button. Adam’s skin smells like citrus and something else, something characteristically Adam. Ronan can’t quite put his finger on it, maybe it’s just his deodorant or a component in the laundry detergent wafting off Adam’s shirt. But it’s there and it slowly dissolves Ronan’s brain into an enamoured puddle of goo.

Above him, Adam yawns. Ronan doesn’t even try to fight the smile tugging at his mouth when he hears it.

“Come on,” he says, pressing one last kiss to Adam’s abdomen before pulling away and watching the shirt fall back down.

They lay down together, face to face and all wrapped up in each other. Ronan feels Adam sniff his neck and wonders if he carries the same base notes, bar soap and himself. It’s very possible that he does.

Adam kisses his neck with a chaste peck and Ronan tightens his arms around him.

Like this, they sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops okay that ending was a bit abrupt but i couldn't figure out how to end this properly. 
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading!! comments and feedback are always appreciated :)
> 
> for prompts, you can always hit me up on tumblr @bleachersmp3 
> 
> x


	10. swing swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's summer and Adam's leaving for college soon and Ronan just really wants a cuddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts for like two months now and i finally got around to editing it.

The afternoon is hot and hazy, and Ronan has spent a good fifteen minutes wandering the grounds of his family home before finding Adam asleep, slumping and relaxed in the hammock Ronan had hung a couple of strides inside the edge of the forest. Through the thicket, he can just make out a head of golden hair peeking through the loose net. 

Ronan steps closer. Against the well-trodden path, his bare feet have barely any stomp to them, but he puts a certain stealth to his step anyway as he walks over the dirt and gravel. Uncharacteristically unguarded, Adam is lying on his back with his knees drawn up and resting against the side of the hammock, arms looped loosely around himself. There is a book lying face-down on his chest. Ronan cannot quite make out the title, but its cover is spattered in orange and deep purple. 

_What a nerd_ , Ronan thinks. Who reads during their summer holidays? 

_Adam does_.

Affection catches in Ronan’s throat. These days, Adam divides his time at the Barns between reading, worrying, and catching up on sleep.

These past couple of weeks, they’ve been doing a lot of that together. Sleeping, that is. It is also something Ronan has gotten increasingly better at ever since Adam started spending the night more often. Sleeping with Adam, laying with him and watching him breathe is easy. Nothing lulls Ronan to a deeper, more rejuvenating sleep than the steady beat of Adam’s heart.

Something a little green rises within him, the tide of a missed opportunity or maybe just Ronan’s frustration with himself making itself known. It ebbs just as quickly as it arrived, though, and he is left standing slightly awestruck a couple of feet away from the hammock, too in love to sort through the comings and goings of his own bitter feelings. _It’s not that deep_ , Sargent would say. Not about this, because Ronan would rather stab himself in the eye than confide in her on any sort of detail about his relationship with Adam. But he knows nonetheless that she would say it if she knew.

The thing is that when Adam sleeps, it’s gorgeous and forceful and gloriously deep. Ronan craves the rising and falling of Adam’s chest, the deep puffy breaths and the subtle damp of sweat on his skin because Adam likes to hold and be held and feels most comfortable wrapped in Ronan’s duvet. It’s as if now that he has had a taste of Adam, asleep, he doesn’t want to miss a single second of it.

Ronan quite unceremoniously plucks the book from Adam’s hands and dog-ears the opened page before tossing it to the ground and replacing it with his own head. It’s certainly an awkward position, and half of him ends up hanging off the hammock anyway whilst his face is buried against Adam’s chest.

The hammock swings dangerously and muscles jolt beneath him. Ronan can’t see him, but he knows Adam is awake now.

“What the hell, Ronan?”

Ronan grunts, “Shut up.”

“I will not -,” Adam starts, huffs, pushes at Ronan’s shoulders. “Ronan, you’re squishing me.”

“Ugh,” Ronan says and shifts slightly. The hammock is still swinging, though Ronan is now mostly _in_ it instead of dangling off the side.

“What did you have for lunch? Rocks?” Adam asks, now moving as well. Ronan almost knees him in the crotch trying to shift his weight off him and onto the net of the hammock.

“There’s no way this is gonna work,” Adam reprimands, And Ronan lifts his head to glare at him. “This isn’t a deck chair I’m sitting in where you can just plop yourself into my lap.”

Heat rises to Ronan’s cheeks. So Adam _has_ noticed his new favourite habit. Ronan has been doing this a lot lately, seeking out Adam on hot afternoons like this when he’s lounging on the back porch with his nose buried in a book or a newspaper or curled up staring out at the fields. That is at least until Ronan finds him and sits with him, strokes his hair and takes his ever-whirring mind off whatever he’s overthinking about.

He’s feeling defensive now that he knows Adam has noticed this pattern. Burrowing his nose into Adam’s breastbone, Ronan snarls, “I can and I did. _You’re_ the one who has a problem with it, not me.”

“I don’t have a problem with it in general, but you can’t possibly be comfortable right now,” Adam reasons.

And he’s right, but Ronan doesn’t really care.

Instead, he opens his mouth wide and breathes hot air against Adam’s jersey-clad skin. It’s silly and impulsive and leaves a damp spot on the fabric. Ronan laughs quietly to himself. Adam groans, says his name in a warning tone. Ronan takes the opportunity to repeat the hot-air-breathing, thinking about how he would be blowing a raspberry if Adam wasn’t wearing a shirt. The sensory image of bare skin under his lips sets his lungs alight.  

This time, Adam laughs too. Exasperation tinges his voice, and Ronan rejoices in the sound of it. 

He shuffles and shifts until he is at eye-level with Adam, pokes his nose against his cheek. The hammock swings dangerously when he moves, and there is a slightly panic-stricken look on Adam’s face that he can’t help but grin at. The feeling in the pit of his own stomach is the sort that comes in a tidal wave and urges his pulse to beat harder, one that sends shivers down his spine and twists his insides in the most thrilling way.

Ronan, self-proclaimed adrenaline aficionado, captures Adam’s lips with his own then. It’s sweet and on the softer end of the scale, but Adam mouth chases after him when he pulls back and Ronan’s coil of desire wrings itself tighter. 

Pulling back further, Ronan detects a smile loosening on Adam’s face. He shimmies his hips, willing the hammock to swing slightly and Adam’s lungs to contort in a surprised huff.

“If we crash and I break my back, you’re gonna have to drive me all the way to Cambridge.”

“Deal,” Ronan says, and kisses him again.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading x
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @bleachersmp3


End file.
